


Useless in Rainwall

by Team_Two_Cats



Series: Useless (Suikoden V) [2]
Category: Suikoden, Suikoden V
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Disaster, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Light Bondage, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Two_Cats/pseuds/Team_Two_Cats
Summary: Sol-Falena has fallen, and Frey has made it to Rainwall along with all his baggage. Suddenly at the heart of a resistance movement and surrounded by people hoping to use him for their own goals, he must navigate his own hurts as well as the tangled political situation. Just when it all seems too much, he finds an unlikely ally. Can he rise to the occasion, or will he remain completely useless?





	1. ch02.01

It shouldn’t be the keenest hurt is that Zegai left in Huad. No, it should be the dead parents, their blood decorating the tile of Sol-Falena. It should be the captured sister, made into some sort of puppet for the Godwins and their ambitions. It should be the queendom itself, betrayed and confused and mourning, that moves him most, that keeps him up, that makes him want to punch a wall in frustration. It should be so many things other than the tanned gladiator who left with a shrug and took his beautiful cock with him.

“How else am I supposed to cope?” Frey asks, weapon in staff mode a blur as he trains. It’s all he does now, to distract himself. Trains and curses every person who looks away in shame when he tries to meet their eyes, when he tries to see if they can see the lust burning in him.

“You could try concentrating on the mission?” Lyon suggests.

Frey scoffs.

“Concentrate on being a puppet every bit as much as Lym is?” He presses forward with his attack, but Lyon’s defense never wavers. “Concentrate on the billowing Barrows?”

“You are supposed to be helping fight back against what the Godwins have done. I don’t understand how you can thin—“

Frey abruptly steps back and away and throws his nunchaku against the wall. The room echoes with the crash.

“I need a breath,”: he says, and leaves, shouldering past Sialeeds entering on his way out.

He doesn’t need another lecture on his attitude. He doesn’t need another heartfelt talk about death and family and—

“I just need to get fucked,” he mutters as he moves without really thinking. The mansion is large, almost palatial, but it seems so small next to Sol-Falena. Next to the home he’s lost. He’s almost tempted to go downstairs and see if Chuck wants a roll in the storage room, but something tells him that would be barking up the wrong tree. Boz maybe? Though he doesn’t seem the type to cheat. Dinn? But he is back in Sable. It’s hopeless!

“Excuse me, but that room is off limits,” a soft voice calls from nearby.

Frey looks up to see that he had been walking without thinking toward the room of Lady Barrows, and immediately stops. Standing nearby is Luserina, hands clasped in front of her, pleasant smile painted on her face.

“S-sorry about that,” Frey says.

Of all the Barrows, only Luserina is anything close to decent. But she, too, like everyone else in Rainwall, treats him like he’s made of glass. Like he’ll shattered at the slightest pressure. Maybe because they are asking so much of him otherwise. Be the figurehead for the resistance. Be the one to get vengeance for his parents. Maybe they know that he’s so useless if they ask too much he’ll just let them all down.

“You look…” Luserina says, searching his face with her gaze. There’s something calculating about her, like he’s a bit of math she can almost figure out. He’s seen that look on Lyon’s face during his tutoring sessions, getting much more out of the lessons than he ever did (at least after his parents got wise and only paired him with teachers who wouldn’t give in to his…appetites).

Then whatever the puzzle in him she’s working out seems to resolve, because her smile softens a bit and she says, “…like you could use a quiet place to think.”

And something in her tone makes him nod, and she takes his hand and leads him away from her mother’s room, down the stairs, and into her own room. For a moment he thinks she’s taking him to the bed, but she continues to the back, to a wardrobe there, and leads him inside, through a hidden door in the back.

“I had this built a few years ago,” she says as they begin down a narrow flight of stairs. “Father might think he’s a schemer, but he pays very little attention what his money’s doing when he’s not looking at it. As long as there’s enough for what he wants at any given moment, he doesn’t even check the balances.”

Halfway down the stairs she stops him and presses what seemed like any other stone in the wall, but it must have activated a rune because the faint light trailing behind them from her room is replaced by light orbs that slowly come to life, revealing…

“I’ve long since learned how to invest better than him, anyway,” she says. “Even if he were to check now, I’ve already paid back what I…borrowed to get started. This…” she sweeps her arm, indicating the elaborate dungeon they stand at the entrance to. “…is all mine.”

Frey gapes. In the center of the space is a metal-framed bed that looks big enough for a dozen people. Shelves line the walls, filled with toys and other devices.

“I know what it can mean to lose a family member,” Luserina says and before he can say that he doesn’t want to talk about it, she places a finger to his lips.

“That’s the last I’ll mention it for now,” she says. “But I mean, I recognized that look in your eyes. Would you perhaps like to have some fun?”

And it’s like something in him breaks, because he drops to his knees before her, looking up into her eyes like she’s a last minute reprieve from the gallows.

“Oh Falenas, yes,” he says, and she reaches down, runs her hand across his cheek, then cups his chin.

“Then let’s forget about everything except what’s here in this room.”


	2. ch02.02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frey's time in Rainwall has gotten...interesting. But there's more bombshells to come, and more emotions to avoid.

“But certainly our noble prince would have no objections to leading our troops into combat,” Lord Barrows says, hands alternating between gesturing wildly into the space before him and rubbing his stomach. He resembles some sort of river otter begging for another clam.

“You can’t be serious,” Sialeeds says. Even since they arrived, she’s been the one most in charge, most aware of the implication of what’s happened. She’s lived through war before, and everyone is quick to say how deft she is in politics. There’s something fiery in her eyes, though. Something that’s only come alive since the queen…since Arshtat…

“My nephew is not a pawn to be used for your own ambitions.” Her voice is sharp, the whole room still as the air seems to hold its breath.

Frey knows that Barrows won’t let it go. Already his mouth is opening to protest, and his Aunt might just ram a tornado down it. Not that it would be a great loss, but Frey feels something unfolding inside him, a desire in this moment not to just let these events play out. He needs to…

“I’ll do it,” Frey says. Beside him, he can feel Lyon sigh and roll her eyes. Everyone else, though, seems surprised by his sudden outburst.

Barrows recovers fastest. “That’s the kind of passionate spirit that will motivate our soldiers to victory over those nefarious Godwins,” he says.

Sialeeds isn’t far behind, though, and her eyes are gales. “I won’t allow—“

“I need to do _something_ ,” he says, and somehow those words carry all the emotion he’s been denying for the past weeks. He blinks back the tears clawing at the corners of his eyes. “If I can be out there, even as a figurehead, at least I won’t be _useless_.”

She holds his gaze and it’s him who looks away first, despite his bold words. But she doesn’t lecture him more. Instead, she tosses her hair so that it covers more of her face.

“If that’s what you want, then so be it.” She turns toward Barrows, though, one eye flashing in the shadow cast by her hair. “But if he’s hurt at all, it will go bad for you, Barrows.”

And with that, she turned and walked to the stairs.

“I could use a nap. Anyone care to assist?”

Dinn and Boz both share a glance before both of them follow her up.

At her father’s side, Luserina scowls, but says nothing. Her silence is a weight, but also a promise, and Frey swallows at the memory of the previous day, at the thought of following that secret passageway again down into the place where he doesn’t have to think.

Georg slaps him on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Never figured you for a general,” he says.

“Trust me, he’s not one,” Lyon says in a whisper. With Georg and Frey she’s honest and clearly not impressed with his decision, but she won’t let that on to Barrows. United front and all that.

“I want to do my part,” he says.

Georg laughs. “As long as it’s not the other soldiers’ parts you’re hoping to do.”

Frey feels himself flush, even as a guilty part of himself thrills that Georg would make a sex joke around him. Again he pushes down that strange bundle of attraction and shame that rears whenever Georg is around.

“I wasn’t even—“ he begins to protest, but a look from Georg quiets him. It’s…it’s like all the mirth of the last moment evaporates, like a cloud passes over him, and one moment they’re joking and the next Frey’s afraid Georg will cut him down right there. A danger, a violence, an edge rears and falls away almost as cast, but it has killed the fragile joy they had shared.

“I-I know,” Georg says. “Sorry.”

Everyone is quiet.

“But I’ve been meaning to say,” Georg says, “that your aunt thinks it’s a good idea for me to scout some potential allies. What with the bounty on my head, I’m not sure I’m someone you should be seen around right now. I’m…heading out. Now.”

Frey blinks, the announcement catching him entirely off guard. He wants to say something, to recover something, but it’s gone and Georg is already turning to the front door.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says.

Frey raises a hand in farewell, but it’s like he’s lost a tether to something solid. On his other side, Lyon sidles closer as if sensing it, but it’s not something she can fix. There’s only one thing that’s going to help…


	3. ch02.03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frey and Luserina have something of a conversation...and come to an understanding.

His arms are pulled tight into the air on either side of him, his wrists chafing slightly from the bonds. Luserina rides him, taking him in, her knees on either side of his thighs, her breasts pushing out at him. He wants to lean forward, to taste them, but the collar prevents that. He can only endure. Endure and—

She comes on top of him, and it’s all he can do not to follow suit. But she hasn’t—he doesn’t have permission, and her moans are a exquisite torture as pleasure threatens to peak inside him, to—

She pushes herself down harder and he can’t help but groans around the gag. He’s so close. He needs…needs…

“You may,” she says, and it’s all it takes as she quickly slides off him, leaving him to come streaming into the space she just left, cock bobbing with the force of his orgasm. His fluids join hers as one stream reaches high on his own chest.

He collapses. The world dims.

Later Luserina cuts slices of apple and feeds it to him, his arms now bound at his sides, his gag removed. Frey feels weightless, but there is a something about the silence between them that is like a pin pressing in from under a cushion, hard enough to both but not enough to break the skin. When she speaks, it’s in a soft voice, distant, as if she’s speaking to an empty room rather than a person.

“You wouldn’t remember Hiram,” she says, “my oldest brother. He died at the end of the War of Succession. Assassinated.”

Frey should know this. Should know the history of all the great noble families. For perhaps the first time he feels bad he doesn’t.

“It’s such a strange thing. I see you grieving, see you separated from your sister, even if you never really got along, and I can’t help but think about Hiram. He was the first person I told. About being trans. The first person and he never doubted me, never interrogated me about it. I think his death so soon after I came out as a child…I think that’s why my parents didn’t push harder for me to…well, you know. Because he stood up to them about me. I heard them argue. Shout. I heard him say he’d marry a Godwin if they didn’t support me. My mother wouldn’t hear of it. He cursed her. Cursed both them. And then a week later he was dead. My older sister a week after that. My mother…shriveled up on herself after that. She had Euram, who became everything to her and my father. Their last joy. And I had…freedom.”

Frey accepts the latest slice of apple she places on his tongue without comment. He wants to tell her to use him, to fuck his face, to make everything blur so that they don’t have to feel anything but the rush of flesh on flesh, the melting pleasure of their bodies locked in carnal bliss. Instead he tries to think of appropriate words to say.

“Well, for me,” he begins, but then he feels the knife cold and sticky against the warm skin of his neck. He looks up at her and sees that she’s present again, but there is something hard in her expression.

“Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter,” she says, and so he swallows those words back. “It matters, Frey. Don’t think I’m not grateful that you want me to fuck you. I am. And don’t think I don’t understand being a noble and having a difficult family life. But please don’t try to tell me you don’t care like it’s some comfort for me.”

Frey waits as she holds the knife to him a second longer and then pulls it away, leaving something wet that might be blood or apple juice.

“I know that you don’t care. And that’s fine. I don’t care about you, either. Not exactly. Not in a way I can explain easily. Neither of us have it in us to love the way the rest of the world wants us too. Which is a joke, anyway, for nobles, who are supposed to marry for honor and obligation, for advantage. Well I have no intention of marrying. And this…” She sweeps her arm to indicate the chamber. “This is just something we both need right now. It’ll end. But don’t tell me it doesn’t _matter_.”

“Thank you,” he says, and for the first time he feels like it’s the right thing to say. She feeds him another slice of apple.

“Thank you, _mistress_ ,” she says, “but I’ll let it go this time.”

Somewhere above them troops are marshalling, orders are being given. The force that is supposed to put down this rebellion is already on its way.

“This war…” Frey says, but can’t finish.

“It stirs things up,” Luserina finishes. “Just…be careful out there. Frey. I want you to live.”

Somewhere above them the sun is hidden behind a storm.

“I think I want me to live, too.”


	4. ch02.04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince finally confronts some of his issues, and makes some plans for a future free of chains.

There are many ways to die. Frey thinks about them, sometimes. More since his parents died. But those thoughts have always been with him, like an escape talisman, like a way out of the cage he’s often felt sliding down around him. Falenan princes are useless. Everyone knows this. But that doesn’t mean they are free.

“I’ve been a terrible brother,” Frey says, taking a swig from Luserina’s flask. He winces as the harsh liquid slides down his throat. She could afford better, whisky so smooth it would go down like water, so she must like the harsh, and he thinks he understands that.

“You could be worse,” Luserina says, snatching the flask back. “And trust me, I’m something of an expert on the subject.”

They are in her room for once, not the dungeon beyond it. Downstairs Georg is slipping away without a proper goodbye. Frey wants to go down, wants to sort through the strange and warring emotions inside himself, but instead he remains on Luserina’s bed and drinks. Whatever his feelings, they don’t have time for them. And for once in his life Frey has actually agreed to take on a responsibility of his own choosing. Or, well, that he could have avoided, at least, and has chosen not to.

“I guess it’s not too late to be better,” he says, not sure if he’s talking about being a brother or something bigger.

“It’s never too late,” Luserina amends, and they both stare at the ceiling. It’s carved in swirling patterns, intricately detailed. But no matter how long he looks at it, Frey can’t figure out what it’s supposed to be. Whirls of wind? Water? Magic?

“What the fuck is with your ceiling?” he asks.

She laughs.

“My father had it done,” she says. “I don’t really understand it. But then, I don’t get art in general. I’m unconvinced that anyone does. My father parades it in amid other nobles who are expected to ooh and ahh and it all seems ridiculous to me. I prefer the look of sensible iron, the feel of silk, the rough scratch of hemp. All…this? It’s just my father showing off, hoping that surrounding himself with enough art will convince people that he’s more than a slug pretending to be a man.”

Frey traces the loops and curves. “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he says, then quickly, “About art, I mean. Not your father. He’s the worst.”

They share a laugh.

“But art…I don’t know. Maybe you just haven’t found something that speaks to you yet. All the artists your father supports, they’re the ones able to live and work in Huad. Which is an expensive place to be. But…the idea that art only exists there…I wonder.”

“You’re being awfully philosophical this morning,” she says.

Frey huffed. She’s right, he knows, and he’s beginning to suspect why, though he doesn’t want to face it.

“What would you do if your parents died?” he asks, and he’s sure the question is wrong the moment it escapes his lips, but he doesn’t try to take it back.

“I’d leave,” she says after a pause. The words are quiet, but there is no hesitation in her voice. “To Toran, maybe. Or Jowston. There are stories I’ve heard that…that I might meet some people there.”

Frey considers.

“You wouldn’t stay on, take over as head of the Barrows? It’s not like Euram could—“

“I have no interest in leading anything,” she says. “And no desire to get further involved with politics of Falena. It’s too corrupt, and there’s no fixing it without first burning it down. That includes my family’s legacy. So I’d just…leave. I’ve only stayed this long because I’m sure that if I tried to leave now they’d come after me. Make my life a hell. Ruin any chance I had of being a part of the world on my own terms. If they were gone…I could go, knowing that Euram will run everything they’ve built into the ground. That seems fitting, to me.”

Silence again, though it’s a comfortable kind. Frey lets himself brush against the idea that his parents are dead. That there is no one to rebel against, any longer. That all his life he was pushing back against a pressure to be what they wanted, when what they wanted was for him to be…ornamental. So he took it too far, made himself a spectacle, an embarrassment. And without realizing it that became a part of who he is. And now…it was like discovering a different person had been hiding inside him, waiting. It sounds awful. He can’t give voice to it, because everyone loved his parents. Even he did, he thinks. But…they weren’t good for him. And…he’s not glad they’re dead, but he’s glad he’s free.

“Leaving…sounds nice,” he says, staring up at the ceiling, deciding that he kind of likes the design, even if he can’t make sense of it.

“I thought you were staying,” Luserina says. “to avenge your parents. To save your sister. To restore Falena.”

“I don’t care about Falena,” he says. “Or vengeance. I want…to be a better brother. Lym doesn’t deserve what’s happening. The least I can do is help her, cut her free of the Godwins. But after that…I don’t think she’ll need me around at all.”

Luserina hums. Maybe she’s afraid he’ll want to come with her, want to crash her own adventure, make it about himself. But he doesn’t. He wants…he just wants to see who he is once the Prince of Falena finally falls off his shoulders. A better person, he hopes…

There are so many ways to die. Maybe it's time he start thinking of new ways to live.


	5. ch02.05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come to leave Rainwall behind.

There is battle. War. Betrayal. All the things that make a good story. And there is Luserina, who still welcomes him into her dungeon whenever he needs it. But things change. And finally they stand on the threshold to the Barrow Mansion, looking at the vaulting ceilings, for what might be the last time.

“Prince, it’s not safe here,” Lyon says.

The others are already gone. Lucretia has played the city like a piano, coaxing out a song to suit her. Frey’s just glad she’s on his side. Or rather, that he’s on her side. Whatever the case, their time in Rainwall is over.

“I wish I had the power to tear it all down,” Luserina says.

The revelations about her family…they’re not shocking, exactly, but Luserina still blames herself for not ferreting them out long ago. At least that what Frey guesses. He wants to tell her not to blame herself, but he’s the last person who should be giving advice about…pretty much anything. He nods.

“Maybe one day you will,” he says, because it’s the nicest thing he can think to say. It makes her smile, at least.

“This wasn’t quite how I imagined going,” she says. “I thought…it would be quiet. In the middle of the night. Not this grand…statement.”

“Lucretia seems to have limited our choices in the matter,” he says.

She scowls.

“That woman…”

“But I’m sure Raftfleet will be interesting. We’ve already assembled a motley crew…”

Luserina laughs, and Frey pretends not to notice how wet her eyes are.

“That we have. You do seem to attract some strange people, Frey.”

“I can’t help it that I’m a sexy mess,” he says. “But don’t worry. Just because we have new recruits doesn’t mean I will forget about you.”

He holds out a hand towards her, and she regards it, then shakes her head. A worry burrows into Frey’s chest, like she’s about to dump him somehow despite the fact they’re not dating, have only been helping each other through their relative troubles.

“It might be a while before I’m ready to get over this,” she says at last, and there’s something…not final, exactly, about the way she says it, but still it feels like an ending.

Frey lets his hand drop, and that’s when she reaches over and gives his shoulder a squeeze, smiling through the half-shed tears in her eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “Not yet. But I need some space.”

He swallows, then nods. Well shit. Still, it doesn’t hurt the way it had when Shoon walked out on him, or even when Zegai left. She’s still there, a friend if not a lover, and he finds that’s more than enough. He turns to Lyon, who is standing outside with her arms crossed, glaring at him and tapping her foot.

“Let’s go,” he says, and the three of them all make their way away from the mansion and down the opulent stairs of Rainwall, into the wide world beyond.


End file.
